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User blog:Brady26/The Judgement of Lord Rack
The following is a non-canon event, just something I wrote up following the Rise of Tiamat. He falls. Through the Veil. Through star light. Through darkness. Below him he sees a red tinged sky. Around he sees only the formless void. Above him, where he travels, he sees a burning gate, a great and terrible mark upon the universe. A fresh wound, still raw. He strikes the ground hard, the burning ash torn sky of the Eyrie filling his vision as he passes into the realm of the Dragon Queen. In a cruel twist, while he was trying desperately to stop her reaching his realm, she has effortless cast him into hers. He stands before Sarportan, the guardian to the gate. The first line of defence against the endless monsters of the multiverse, and the judge of those who would dare to enter his Queen's realm. It was a massive figure, as large as the great Storm Giants he had encountered in the Falkanah Plains, and even though this monster stood alone with only Rack before him, he somehow seemed larger than those nomads he met not so long ago. It had the head of a dragon, though its body was humanoid and covered in red scales inscribed with draconic runes that pulsed and flared with the creature's breathing. In its claws held a glaive, a jagged and cruel looking weapon that held a core of screaming fire just above the hilt that seemed to rage and shake with an inferno desperate to be released, though its master seemed to show it no mind as it held the blade almost casually over its shoulder. "You stand before Sarportan mortal. I sense the touch of my mother upon your soul." The giant speaks, though its mouth remains perfectly still, its eyes, burning coals, stare down at him impassively, "What have you brought to prove yourself worthy of entry into the Eyrie? What treasure do you bring to the hoard to weigh your soul against? Speak quickly lest I hurl you into the maggot pit below." And indeed there is a maggot pit. From atop an outcrop of cliff, on the edge of this realm, Rack could see the five great mountain spires in the distance, loaming over him even as they lurked on the horizon. But between him and those spikes, perhaps offering hope or salvation to those poor souls foolish or unlucky enough to arrive here, was a sea of white, writhing and shifting maggots. The stench that these wretched things produce was the foulest thing Rack had ever experienced, it was the worst smells he had encountered in his life all returned to plague his senses. The smell of the corpses dragged out of the harbour. Were they his parents? The smell of the rat as it died in his hands as he hid in the shadows, the other children, themselves starving just like him, looking for him and his only friend. The smell of cooking flesh as it ran like liquid from bones, burning in dragon fire. The fetid smell of the swamp that seemed to burst out of the leader of the bullwugs as it was pierced by Kadmos' blade. A hundred memories flashing through his mind as his is assailed by their foulest smells. Category:Blog posts